A Dance in December
by Minisinoo
Summary: 15 years after the last Triwizard Tournament, another is staged at Hogwarts, complete with Yule ball. All 4 former champions are invited and asked to bring a date. Harry and Cedric bring each other. semi-AU; Cedric's alive but much from canon H/Ced


**Summary:** Fifteen years after the last Triwizard Tournament, which ended so disastrously, another Triwizard Tournament is staged at Hogwarts, complete with Yule ball. All four former champions are invited, and asked to bring a date. Harry and Cedric bring each other. _(Semi-AU ... Cedric is alive, but much remains of canon)_ c. 9000 words

**Pairings:** canon pairings plus/but H/C, V/Hr  
**Warning:** a definite mature, although the smutty bit is rather short.  
**Prompt:** For the LJ Community TwoSeekers's Christmas exhange; I_am_negotiable requested "Established relationship, a few years after Harry's 7th year, in which they are invited back to Hogwarts for Christmas. Fluffy!"  
**Notes:** There are some sad moments in parts of this. Failing relationships are painful and that pain shouldn't be passed over -- but there's also plain ol' _mush_. This story fits into no previous storyline I've done.

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Cedric watching him over the top of the dun-dull cubicle wall, his arms crossed casually atop it. Harry has the wall's inside covered with newspaper clippings, a big map of Britain, and a smaller one of London itself. The sleeves of Cedric's red Auror robes are pushed up a bit so that lamplight picks out the light brown hairs on his forearms. He has oddly delicate wrists, but they match the graceful hands and long, slender fingers. Harry tells him they are pianists' hands -- which is ironic as he can't carry a tune in a bucket much less play anything.

Well, not anything musical. He plays Harry's body on a regular basis.

Seated at his desk, Harry is aware of Cedric's regard like summer sun on his back, but finishes the last sentence of his report and taps the parchment with his wand, creating copies. Everything in bloody triplicate. It doesn't matter if it's Muggle or magical, bureaucracy is bureaucracy. Only when he's finished does he raise his head to focus on Cedric. "Yes?" He keeps his tone professional; anybody could be listening.

Cedric steps around the partition to enter the cubicle and grabs a chair, straddling it backwards. "Want to go to the ball with me?"

"I beg your pardon?" What is he talking about? "You mean the Minister's Christmas party? I thought the whole department was going?"

"No, I mean the _ball_. The Yule Ball -- at Hogwarts."

Harry blinks, then glances past Cedric to be certain nobody is standing in the walkway between cubicles. Cedric gets nervous -- normally -- about these sorts of discussions being overheard. So Harry's a bit surprised he's bringing it up here, now, instead of at home. "Er, we sort of have to. Go I mean. They asked us."

"It's you they want," Cedric corrects with a quirk of lips. "The press anyway."

"Maybe the press," Harry allows, "but the Department of International Magical Cooperation asked _all_ the former Champions. If anything, _I _was the extra in the last batch."

Cedric brushes that off as if it doesn't matter. "Would you, ah, like to go together? Not just, um, together, but, you know, _together_?"

Harry continues to stare at him. "You're kidding, right?" He's got to be kidding. Cedric has never been one for 'public statements' but if they go _together_, as Cedric had put it, that'd be one _big_ damn public statement.

"Er . . . no?" Cedric replies. "I'm not kidding." For a moment, uncertainty flashes behind the grey eyes as if he really thinks Harry might be turning him _down_.

"Cedric, are you, well, are you _certain_? I mean, I expected we'd just . . . go. In each other's company, sure -- but I didn't think you were ready for more."

Cedric is looking down, not at Harry. "I know. I'm . . . I wasn't. I'm still not sure I am." He opens his mouth to continue, then shuts it without speaking. He keeps his eyes averted. He's looking at the map of Britain, his long fingers tracing the lines of the counties. His nails look even more chewed than usual and his hair practically stands on end, it's so mussed. Harry hadn't noticed these things at first, but does now. He also recalls that Cedric tossed and turned in bed all the night before, unable to sleep.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Harry asks instead of giving Cedric an answer. He needs to know where Cedric's head is right now.

"A while," Cedric confesses.

His fingers still trace the irregular, multi-hued shapes. Reaching out, Harry pulls them away -- but only to grip them in his own, squeezing. They're cold. "How long is a while?" Harry asks.

"Er . . . since they sent us the invitation." He takes a breath, then turns his eyes on Harry and blurts, "I wanted to ask you back then. I didn't -- obviously -- I didn't know how, but I wanted to ask you the first time. Did you know that?"

"You told me once."

"Oh. Sorry, I forgot."

"I'm not surprised. You were as drunk as a lord at the time and rambling," Harry says, grinning.

"Ah -- that would explain it." He runs his free hand through his messy hair, making it messier. Harry still has a hold of the other. "But I did want to ask you then. I was just too much of a coward -- "

"We were young, Ced. It's hard to give the two-fingered salute to expectations at that age."

"You did," Cedric says. His smile is soft. "You were always brave that way."

"I also wasn't Mr. Popular." Harry would laugh but Cedric looks too distressed and Harry fears he'd think he was laughing at him. There is so much he still struggles with. "I had less to lose."

"Even so," Cedric says. "You were still braver than me then. I reckon I'm trying to be brave now." His eyes grow intense in that way he has, sucking Harry in and down. He's fucking _magnetic_. "I love you," he whispers. "I want . . . I want people to know how much I love you."

And that fast, he can turn it all, transforming Harry's knees to jelly and letting off fireworks in Harry's stomach. They've been together four years now but in a single moment Harry is captivated all over again, sinking into Cedric's gaze like some silly schoolgirl with her first crush. "Yes," Harry mutters.

Cedric's eyebrows lift. "Yes, you know I love you?"

"_No. _Yes, I'll go to the ball with you."

Smiling, Cedric leans in over the top of the chair back to kiss Harry briefly. He doesn't even look over his shoulder first to see if anybody is watching them.

* * *

The first time they'd kissed, they were both drunk, although Harry rather more than Cedric. And Harry was still with Ginny. Of course, things also weren't working with Ginny, which was how he found himself in a Ministry utility cupboard with Cedric Diggory, mouths hot and hands everywhere and little explosions going off in Harry's stomach and groin. He kept trying to climb Cedric's body to bring their erections, trapped inside trousers, closer together. He'd have been ashamed if he'd been sober. He'd never thought of himself as the sort of man who'd cheat.

It was Cedric who halted matters before they got any further than trying to eat each others' faces. "Stop this. Stop, please. You don't want to do this."

"Yes, I do," Harry muttered, worming his hand inside Cedric's robes, trying to get at the zip on his trousers.

"No, you don't. Nor do I." And he pushed Harry back firmly. His eyes were red-rimmed from the alcohol. And sad. "You're engaged."

"Bollocks," Harry swore, wiping the back of his hand over his (very sloppy wet) mouth. "Did you have to remind me?"

"Yes. You'd hate me later if I didn't."

And that was true. Harry could take responsibility for things, but he was still sometimes guilty of wanting to share the blame. It wasn't like Cedric didn't know he was taken, and how the hell had they got into the cupboard anyway? Harry scrubbed at his eyes; his brain felt foggy. He needed to get back to the party. He needed to find Ginny.

This couldn't go on. It wasn't fair to her or to him.

"I . . . I have to go," he said. "I'll talk to you later."

And with nothing more than that, he opened the door and stumbled out, leaving Cedric in there. Fortunately, the little back hall was empty at the moment but the roar of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Yule masque could be heard in the distance. Harry stumbled back towards it, his head spinning. He shouldn't have let himself get this pissed. Robards would have some choice words for him come Monday, but after quarrelling with Ginny, it had seemed like a good idea at the time to pour whisky down his throat like it was water.

Back in the conference room, all the lights seemed to have halos and he couldn't really see, had to hold out a hand to steady himself on whatever he could find -- tables mostly, or the occasional reveler. Their masks leapt out at him, wild and leering, or maniacal and alarming. Some idiot had come dressed like a Death Eater; Harry had thought that a bad job, but hadn't said so. He'd just got his first whisky. And _that _was what had set off Ginny. She'd encouraged him to protest, not just swallow it. "You used to say what you thought," she'd told him.

"That was before I was trying to keep a job, Gin. I don't know who's under that mask. Protesting could get me in trouble."

"So, what? You're just going to _drink_ yourself into oblivion? That's not the Harry Potter I knew."

"Maybe you never really knew me then, did you?"

Those words had shut up Ginny, her eyes wide at his thoughtless cruelty, but more and more these days, he felt something was off about their affair. He just didn't know what. He did love her, but it wasn't working. He wondered if he even knew how to be in a relationship? After all, what models had he had? The Dursleys? Ron and Hermione? They quarrelled more often than not these days -- but with a vicious edge that hadn't been there before. He was waiting for the call from Ron that she'd kicked him out for good this time. Once, he'd have waded in to try to mediate but not now. Still, It killed him to see them rip at each other and he wondered why in hell they'd ever thought it a good idea to marry at nineteen right after the war? At least he'd had better sense with Ginny. It had taken him five years to work himself up to proposing, although nothing had moved past that in the three years since.

Nothing except watch it all unravel slowly. He couldn't even point to a single event or problem. It wasn't her fault; it wasn't his fault. It just . . . didn't work. They'd tried too hard maybe. They'd assumed it had to work _because_. Because she'd loved him forever. Because he'd been all but adopted by her family. Because she'd waited for him when he'd been undercover against Voldemort. Because he was her biggest fan when she played for the Holyhead Harpies.

Because everyone had just expected them to wind up as a 'we.'

Yet something was missing when they were in bed and the lights were out. His heart loved her. His mind respected her. His body . . . wasn't so sure. He hadn't understood that . . .

. . . until tonight when he'd dragged a tipsy Cedric Diggory into a cramped hallway cupboard and discovered what _PASSION_ meant. He'd never felt that sort of insane I-want-to-fuck-you-_right-now_ desire for Ginny from the first kiss. Once she'd worked him up, sure -- but from the start?

"Come on," said a (too familiar) voice somewhere behind him and above his left shoulder. "I'm taking you home before you fall over."

"I need to see Ginny, Cedric."

"She went home."

"How the bloody hell do you know?" Harry demanded, turning on the other man.

"Because I asked Robards." His face was bland, giving away nothing . . . either of what he was feeling or of what they'd been doing earlier. "Now come on."

So Harry let him guide him to the atrium floos and get him home, even help him into bed, although that mostly amounted to Harry collapsing across the blanket, still dressed. Cedric fetched a pot, leaving it -- and a towel -- by the bed. "You might be sick," he said simply. "I'll see you Monday."

And he was gone.

Harry couldn't get out of bed all Saturday, being too hung over. But lying there flat on his back gave him plenty of time to consider things, and face some hard truths. He broke up with Ginny the next day, a Sunday. Never let it be said that, once he'd decided on a course of action, Harry Potter dragged his heels. He travelled to the Burrow after lunch and walked Ginny down to the little field pond for privacy. Then he told her he was ending their engagement. He didn't tell her about Cedric. The . . . whatever it had been . . . in the closet was just a symptom, not the cause. She cried, and hit him in the chest, then threw her engagement ring as hard as she could into the pond before running back to the house. He just stared out at the lake for a few minutes, then Apparated home to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione came by that evening while Ron stayed home, saying that someone had to put Rose to bed but Harry thought it had more to do with resentment on Ginny's behalf. In any case, he and Hermione had the sort of conversation that required more than a teapot. She'd brought a bottle of rum, and after a glass, confessed that she was planning to leave Ron, just couldn't quite bring herself to do it. She worried about practical things like money, and how they'd explain it all to a toddler -- not to mention how they'd split custody. But the bitterness between them just got worse with each passing year. "It's better if Rose doesn't grow up in a house festering with that."

"True," he agreed, and poured her more alcohol, then said, "I think I might be gay."

She almost dropped her glass. "_What?_"

"I think I'm gay."

"So that's why you broke up with Ginny?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. It's just . . . it's not working with Ginny . . . maybe because I'm gay, or maybe it wouldn't have worked anyway, I don't know, but -- " He took a deep breath, then went on, "You can't tell anybody this -- not Ginny or Ron especially, but nobody else either." She nodded, her dark eyes solemn. "I kissed Cedric Diggory at the party Friday night."

"_What?!_"

So he told her about the quarrel with Ginny -- just the latest in a long string of them -- and how Cedric had come over later to cheer him up after spotting Harry moping with a whisky glass in a corner . . . and how easy it had been to unload on Cedric. But it was always easy for Harry to talk to Cedric, had been since they'd finally got past Cedric's intense guilt for tricking Harry into taking the cup alone that night in the Maze. Harry had never blamed him. He'd just been doing his level best to be all Hufflepuffily honourable; he could hardly have known what the consequences would be. And if he _had_ gone, he'd probably just have been killed. Yet he'd felt terrible afterwards, avoiding Harry for three years until the last Battle there at Hogwarts, when his well-aimed Impedimenta had saved Harry from being hit from behind by something nasty from Dolohov. After that final battle, he'd helped Harry disappear for a week to get his head together. And they'd talked.

They'd been friends ever since, although working in the same department at the Ministry had facilitated that.

"I just . . . never expected to kiss him, you know?"

"I don't imagine you would!" Hermione said, but she was half-laughing. "He didn't . . . he didn't, er, well, um . . . _seduce_ you, did he?"

"Seduce me? Hardly. I think I seduced him. Or at least, I'm the one who hauled him into the cupboard. And we didn't do anything more than kiss. We were both pretty, er, hammered."

"There are rumours about him."

"I know. I've heard them."

"I suppose they're true."

"I suppose they are. He was, um" -- Harry scratched the back of his head -- "pretty enthusiastic. Until he made me stop because, well, I'm _engaged_. Was engaged."

"Have you told him yet you broke it off?"

"No. I'm not . . . " He trailed off and blushed. "I'm really not sure what to say to him tomorrow."

"The truth, Harry."

"That I'm gay?"

"If that's the truth. How long have you felt something more for him than friendship?"

"Since Friday night."

She blinked and bent forward. "Then why do you think you're gay?"

"Because I kissed a boy! Well, a man."

"That hardly makes you gay. I kissed a girl once, just to see what it was like."

"You did?" Harry suspected his eyes were as big as saucers. "_Who?_"

She blushed a little. "Ginny, actually."

"What!" he practically shouted it. "She never told me that. _You_ never told me that!"

"Well, no, we didn't, Mr. Nosey. It was a long time ago. We were both curious. We weren't exactly your typical girls -- I was bookish, she was sport-crazy -- so we wondered if maybe we were lesbians. What can I say? We were young and a bit ignorant and too inclined to accept stereotypes. Anyway this one summer day, we decided to try kissing and see what it was like."

"What was it like?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"You lecher," Hermione scolded, but she was grinning. "It was nice, but not . . . it didn't do anything for me, or her. So we decided we probably weren't gay. It was before Viktor for me, much less Ron, and before Dean or Michael for her -- or you. Later, it became a sort of private joke between us."

Harry's shock was fading. "Weird. But, uh . . . " he trailed off.

"I take it the kiss with Cedric _did_ do something for you?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, running hands through his hair again. "Yeah. It did."

"But you and Ginny . . . I mean, you've been sharing a bed off and on for a while now."

"I know. It's not that I . . . um . . . _can't_ with her. It's not even bad. Sometimes it's pretty good, in fact. It's just not . . . mind blowing?"

"Harry, I hate to tell you, but sex usually isn't."

"I know that! But sometimes it is. Or it should be, shouldn't it?" Kissing Cedric . . . even the alcohol-fuzzy memory of that was making his pants tight.

She tilted her head. "Yes, once in a while it is. Sometimes . . . sometimes even when everything else isn't working and by rights, you should hate each other, it's _still_ mind blowing."

And that was about as direct as he'd ever heard her be -- or ever wanted her to get -- about her physical relationship with Ron. It might also explain why they'd stuck it out this long. Ron had once told him -- in jest Harry had thought -- that Rose had been conceived on the front lawn of their house because he couldn't wait long enough to get Hermione inside. Maybe it hadn't been a joke. Last night, Harry had certainly had been willing to rip off Cedric's clothes and have him right there in a utility cupboard. And if Harry had certainly wanted Ginny, too, wanting her had never sent him mental. "There was definitely something different about it all with Cedric," he confessed now. "Different from how it feels with Ginny."

"Well," Hermione said after a minute of thought, "it's true that not all gay men are impotent with women -- but you might also just be bisexual. What you feel for Cedric is shiny and new whereas you and Ginny have been together a while -- "

"No," Harry interrupted with a firm shake of his head. "No. I've been thinking about it ever since and I realised that I've always felt a little, um, not closer -- you and I are close -- but I paid more attention to the boys around me than the girls."

"True enough," Hermione agreed, grinning and sipping her own drink. "You were clueless about Cho, and even Ginny -- but obsessed by Draco."

"I didn't have a crush on Draco!"

"Maybe not of the good kind -- but the opposite of love isn't hate, Harry, it's indifference. You were never _indifferent_ to Draco."

"I _didn't_ have a crush on him, dammit!"

"I'm not saying you _did_. I'm _saying_ . . . " But she trailed off and looked away for a moment, then refocused on him and went on, "I'm saying you might be on to something. It _has_ usually been boys you've felt more intensely about -- whether as affection or as dislike. Ron was your treasure in the lake, not me."

"Only because you were Viktor's."

"They could have put Viktor's broom in there, Harry, but when it came down to it, you were closer to Ron."

Harry squirmed. "I don't like trying to put my feelings for you and him into some sort of hierarchy. You're the sister I never had."

"And you're my brother. I don't resent the fact he was your treasure; I never did. But he _was_ your treasure. Given . . . things . . . maybe Dumbledore knew you better than you knew yourself?"

"Except Cho was Cedric's treasure," Harry reminded her.

"Cho and Cedric are best friends, in case you missed that fact," Hermione reminded him. "Or maybe Cedric's bisexual. Any road, I think you might be right about your tendency to . . . feel more . . . for men than women."

Harry frowned. "I wasn't in love with Ron, either, back then." Or he didn't think he'd been.

"Which is a good thing," she said, downing her third glass of rum, "as I promise you he's incontrovertibly straight."

"How is he? I mean, I reckon he's furious with me."

"Well," she temporised, "You know he has a temper sometimes."

"So the answer is 'yes.'"

Hermione sighed. "I'm afraid so. He just feels protective of Ginny. He'll come around."

"How's Ginny?"

"Better than Ron, ironically. Once she got over the initial shock, she said she's been expecting this for months. I don't think she had a clue what's wrong, but she knew something was. She's somewhere between bitter and relieved. Ron's just bitter." Reaching out, she grabbed the bottle of rum and poured more. "He was really looking forward to calling you his brother."

* * *

"Uncle Cedric, Uncle Cedric!" The voice is shrill in the crisp winter air as only a child's voice can be. Harry resists wincing.

Cedric, however, bends to catch the ball of flying legs and purple down jacket that hurtles itself at him, full speed ahead. She knows he'll catch her. He raises her high over his head while she squeals even louder; Harry resists putting a finger in his ear. In all honesty, he doesn't care for children. Or rather, he doesn't understand them. They're fine at a distance with somebody else to watch over them, but he doesn't laugh at their jokes, and he can't be sufficiently silly to entertain them. Not to mention their voices usually give him a headache.

By contrast, Cedric _loves_ children -- and they love him. He's a regular Pied Piper. But he has a special place in his heart for Hermione's daughter. "You know," Harry says as Hermione joins them, "I think the universe has a perverse sense of humour, giving you a daughter who loves pink and purple, and who plays with dolls."

"Don't remind me," Hermione says, brushing her newly shorn hair out of her face and smiling with a sort of tolerant fondness as Cedric spins Rose around in his arms. Her red hair flies and her own arms are out, "like an airplane." She took an airplane ride with Hermione's parents all the way to America where they visited Walt Disney World and Busch Gardens and white Florida beaches for three weeks last summer. She'd done nothing but talk about planes ever since; like her other grandfather, she loves all things Muggle. "You haven't seen Ron yet, have you?" Hermione asks.

"No," he replies.

"Damn." She sighs and glances at her watch. "I told him noon."

"He'll be here at twelve-thirty then."

She snorts. "We'll go shopping for dress robes after. I don't want to take The Purple Terror into Madam Malkin's."

So they sit on a rail and watch Cedric entertain Rose for the next twenty minutes until Ron appears in the distance. There's a young woman with him, but he says something to her and she just nods, waiting as he crosses the street to approach their group. "Is that -- ?"

"Connie, yes. You haven't met her?"

"No." Harry doesn't go into it. He and Ron still talk, even talk frequently, but they keep their private lives separate these days. It makes Harry sad.

Seeing her father, Rose breaks off her game with Cedric to rush out towards him much as she'd rushed Cedric earlier. His face splits in a wide grin as he catches her up, hugging her tightly. "He's a good father," Hermione says. "Whatever else, he's devoted."

Leaving Harry's side, she approaches Ron, fishing out Rose's bag from her pocket. It's shrunk. However much crap Rose already has at Ron's, Certain Favourite Toys cannot be left behind. "Hermione," Ron greets her. It's not unfriendly but he stays out of her personal space and she out of his, and it's clear they're still awkward with these boundaries even three years later. "Harry," Ron adds, nodding towards Harry. He doesn't greet Cedric, who's wandered off down the pavement in any case, pretending to look in the shop windows. Then turning to his daughter, he asks, "Ready to see Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Yes! Did Grandma make rice pudding -- _with_ the coin in it?"

"She did."

"Let's go, let's go!" Rose is bouncing and clapping her hands together.

"Give your mum a proper good-bye first," Ron says. "And Uncle Harry too."

Obediently Rose does so. Hermione kisses her, pinching cheeks, but Harry knows her well enough to tell that she's probably glad to have Rose off her hands for a week. Being a single mother is draining, however much she loves her daughter. It's Ron's turn for a while, and he'll probably be equally frazzled by week's end -- although he has his parents (and Connie) to help.

Rose gives Harry kisses next, which he accepts with good grace, then she turns back to Ron -- but suddenly dashes away, back the twenty metres to where Cedric is sizing up a new broom in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Uncle Cedric too!" she says, throwing arms around his hips. Harry can see that he's uncomfortable with this with Ron watching, but he lets her kiss him and sends her back. Harry doesn't have to look to know Ron is glowering.

"I don't -- "

"Be quiet, Ron," Hermione interrupts. "I know how you feel about it. _I_ feel differently, and she's my child too."

Harry says nothing, knowing he's the cause of that particular tension. Ron doesn't look at him again as he picks up Rose and carries her across the street. He doesn't wave. Hermione sighs. "I don't protest the fact he has Connie around, and I know she stays over at the house some nights."

"He says he didn't meet her until after."

"I don't care. You broke up with Ginny before . . . well, before much. You weren't seeing Cedric until after, either."

"But we were friends well before that," Cedric says, having joined them now. "He's convinced I stole Harry from Ginny."

Hermione sniffs. "There's loyalty and then there's absurdity," she says. "And I'm not so sure he wasn't at least _eying_ the busty Miss Harper behind the counter in the apothecary before I moved out."

"But that's not _why_ you moved out," Harry says.

"Well, no."

"With Ron, it doesn't help I'm, er, _that_ sort," Cedric adds.

"That's not it, Cedric," Hermione says, her lips prim. "You know it's not. It's about what happened with Harry and Ginny."

"My being gay is at least a complicating factor."

"We're _both_ gay," Harry reminds him. "That's not the bee in Ron's bonnet."

"Ironic way of putting it, considering. And he still believes I corrupted you."

Hermione sighs. "You're being melodramatic. Ron wouldn't talk to you if you were a Cedrina instead of a Cedric."

Cedric is smirking. "Cedrina?"

"Whatever."

"Come on," he says, slipping an arm around Hermione's waist companionably. Harry matches it on her other side. "We have dress robes to get, and I believe I saw a certain dark head and large nose haunting the pavement outside Madam Malkin's."

"What?" she exclaims. "He's here already? He wasn't supposed to arrive until teatime!" She pats her short bob of curls. It's an oddly feminine gesture from Hermione.

"You look fine, love," Cedric tells her. "Now, let's not keep Krum waiting."

* * *

"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck -- harder!"

Cedric complied and Harry suspected his arse would be sore tomorrow, but right now, his body was _singing_. His fingers curled and his legs shook with the intensity of sensation. "I'm not hurting you?" Cedric panted from above and behind while his hips slapped rhythmically against Harry's arse.

"No!" Because he wasn't, not really. This sort of raw, on-the-edge-of-pain felt amazing, actually. The harder Cedric thrust, the stronger he hit Harry's prostate.

And _that_ was fucking _divine_.

Harry was panting audibly now and Cedric was, well, _growling_. It would've been funny except it was _sexy_. Cedric had never struck Harry as the sort to growl in bed, or talk dirty either. And he didn't talk dirty . . . much. But he growled, and groaned, and hissed, and grunted, and generally made all manner of animal noises. By contrast, Harry had always been quiet right up until the very end. Being with Cedric had changed that. With Cedric, Harry made noise too.

And he liked that.

Yet he knew Cedric wouldn't last long tonight. It'd been a while since they'd seen each other . . . or seen each other with their clothes off anyway. They'd _seen_ each other every flippin' day for the past two weeks but the timing was never right. Harry couldn't get away (cleanly), and Cedric -- closeted for years -- had been adamant about maintaining appearances. Harry didn't like it, but he also didn't have to walk in Cedric's shoes. Cedric had parents, and relatives, including several much younger cousins who were "impressionable," as he put it.

"You could 'impress' them that love is love is love," Harry had said once.

Cedric had just turned away. "I doubt it; I wouldn't be allowed to talk to them."

Harry thought Cedric's mother already knew the truth. Hell, the rumor had been rampant about the Ministry for _years_. Cedric's father was willfully deaf. If Cedric didn't have girlfriends, he did occasionally appear at Ministry functions with a girl on his arm and Amos Diggory latched onto that. "He's just not ready to settle down, my Cedric," Amos would say with a laugh. "Too many girls to choose from!" And if other Ministry employees rolled their eyes behind his back, he pretended not to see. Everybody knew that with Cedric, it had been too many _boys_.

Until Harry. For the past year, nobody had occupied Cedric's bed but Harry, and Harry supposed he should be flattered. Instead, he was mostly anxious. Seeing -- however covertly -- one of the most attractive men in the whole Ministry was both a great ego boost as well as nerve-wracking. Despite their long friendship, Harry expected to be replaced any time when Cedric -- finally -- grew bored of him.

"Gonna come, gotta come, sorrysorrysorry," Cedric hissed from behind Harry. His thrusts had grown harder but irregular, and Harry grunted in frustration. He was riding a crest but wasn't close enough, and could almost feel Cedric spurt inside him -- even if he knew (intellectually) that he couldn't. The walls of his rectum weren't that sensitive; it was all in his head. But that was enough, and he lifted himself on one arm to reach down and grip his own prick, pumping fast even as Cedric jerked above him, trying to finish. A few last strikes on his prostrate made him shudder. "Help," he almost whined.

Cedric leaned against his back, reaching beneath to push Harry's hand out of the way so he could work Harry himself, his other hand reaching up from behind to cup and roll Harry's balls. It had been a while for Harry too and with such focused attention, he soared, nearly screaming as he came all over Cedric's long, elegant fingers.

They collapsed together atop the little hand towel that protected Cedric's sheets, Cedric half lying on Harry, stroking his back with his (unmessy) hand. "Missed you," he said.

"Then stop going home alone at night. Come home with me."

"The photographers -- "

"Fuck the photographers."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Harry laughed. Then flopping over, he glared at Cedric, but with his hair in his eyes and without his contacts in, he couldn't see and it lost much of its impact. "Maybe you just like your freedom?"

Cedric's face showed his surprise. "Whatever makes you think _that_?"

"Uh, well -- have you ever had a long-term boyfriend? And how long have we been together?"

"A year," Cedric replied without pausing to think, then he looked down at Harry's chest, running fingers through the hair there. "Maybe that should tell you something?" Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't say anything. "I don't want to be free," Cedric added after the pause had stretched too long. "Do you?"

"No," Harry answered without hesitation. "But I'm also tired of these bloody games. I feel like I have to . . . to _nick_ time with you. I'm not a thief. I want to be with you all the time. Openly."

A massive struggle played itself out on Cedric's face and Harry wasn't sure if his friend looked more ready to cry, or to howl in frustration. Finally he said -- almost deceptively soft**:** "I love you."

And everything stilled inside Harry. He could hear the thudding of his own heart. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I know. I just -- "

"Never mind." Cedric rolled away abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Harry lunged after, grabbing him around his naked waist before he could stand. "Stop being so melodramatic, you damn moody git!"

Unfortunately, Harry's weight was enough to knock Cedric crashing onto the wooden floor while Harry flopped atop the bed sideways. "Shit!" Cedric muttered.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

"I think I bruised my fucking tailbone!"

"Sorry. I love you too."

Cedric glared up; it wasn't really the look of a lover. "So why didn't you just say so instead of knocking me off of the goddamn bed?"

"You, er, caught me by surprise?" Harry reached over the side to offer Cedric a hand up.

Once he'd stood, Cedric said, "Let me go and wash off my hand." And he headed for his toilet.

Harry let him go, using the towel to clean up any lingering spunk on himself or leaking out of his arse. (And there was a romantic image.) Cedric was back in a minute, almost diving beneath the covers. Harry made room for him, warming his winter-cold flesh. They didn't say anything for a while. Through the window shades, Harry could see the dim reflections of Muggle Christmas lights. Finally, Harry spoke. "Let's move in together."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"The press -- "

"The press can go to hell. We've been friends for years. Why would it be strange for us to share a place now that I'm no longer engaged?"

"That's why, Harry. There's, uh, already speculation enough that I'm a pillow-biter. If you moved in with me after having broken up with your long-time fiancée . . . I think people would put two and two together."

"Let them."

"Harry -- "

"I don't give a shit. Do you? I thought you loved me?"

"I _do_. But I also . . . I love my family, Harry."

"Your mum knows." For a moment, Cedric appeared panicked and Harry took pity on him, adding, "Well, I don't know that for _certain_, but I'm pretty sure she's figured it out. She said something to me months ago that suggested she knew."

Cedric relaxed. "Yes, well -- I knew that. I mean I knew that she'd, erm, sort of guessed. But dad hasn't -- and I'd like not to be disowned."

"You don't know that he'd -- "

"YES, Harry, I do know."

Harry sighed. He wanted to _push_ Cedric -- be temperamental, pitch a fit and force Cedric to a decision. But he recognised -- for once in his life -- that those needs were his own insecurities speaking. He'd seen, again and again, how anxious Cedric got at the idea of public exposure. "Think about it," Harry said finally. "That's all I'm asking. We could lay the groundwork, you know. You could say your landlord's raising the rent and you need to find a roommate, but not look too hard. Then I could offer to let you stay with me at Grimmauld Place. It'd look like a logical decision. If, you know, you, um, _want_ to move in -- "

Cedric's hand stopped Harry's mouth. "Shut it. I told you I didn't want my freedom." He pulled his hand away to hold up both in front of Harry's face, wrist-to-wrist as if bound by invisible cords. "I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me."

"How about forever?" Harry blurted before he could think better of it. He'd been with Ginny for years, engaged to her years more, but had never felt so ready to tie the knot permanently. He couldn't even marry Cedric but was willing to say 'forever' without hesitation. "I _do_ love you."

Smiling, Cedric scooted forward until the tip of his long nose was pressed to Harry's. "Forever sounds pretty good to me."

* * *

The stars of the Yule ball are the current champions not the former ones, even if one of those former champions _is_ The-Boy-Who-Lived-and-Man-Who-Kicked-Voldemort's-Arse. But Harry knows how to be discreet and disappear into the woodwork. The current Champions have their prescribed dance -- three young ladies this time with their (somewhat star-struck) dates -- and Fleur is _preening_ on Bill's arm. "It is time, don't you think," she asks Harry and Cedric, "that the _girls_ get the attentions, no?"

"As I recall, you had all the attention at the Ball last time," Harry teases and she sticks out her tongue at him. Bill ignores them, but not because he's angry at Harry. He's never seemed to hold it against Harry for the break up with Ginny.

"Is Harry behaving badly?" comes a voice behind them and Harry turns, grinning,

"Fleur is on her feminist high-horse," he tells Hermione.

"As well she should be," Hermione replies with a self-satisfied nod.

"You look lovely," Harry tells her to change the subject.

"That she does," agrees Viktor Krum. "I am luckiest man in room."

"Not sure I'd go that far," Bill says without looking over.

"You had better say so, Mr. Weasley," Fleur warns.

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley. You're always beautiful."

She smacks his arm. "I am an enormous whale!" She's carrying their third -- and completely unexpected -- child. "They are really wanting us to be dancing later?"

"Don't remind me," Harry mutters. "I get to trip over both my left feet." He shoots a glance at Cedric whose jaw is suddenly tense, and Harry still isn't sure he's ready for this, but it's a wee bit late for second-thoughts. After the meal, the four former Champions will join the three current ones on the dance floor to open it up for the rest of the evening's entertainment. Bill will dance with his wife despite her protests that she moves more like a panda than a woman at the moment. A pregnant panda. Viktor hadn't protested at all, only too happy to reprise his date of fifteen years ago, however painful the path that had brought them back together. And Harry and Cedric . . .

The media is here tonight, come to cover such an important social event. They hang around for the food and dancing because, of course, they want pictures of the old champions, too. Harry didn't miss the low-key buzz when he'd arrived together with Cedric . . . and neither of them had an (obvious) date. _'Who will they dance with?' _had been muttered over and over. _'Surely they won't insult the Tournament and refuse to dance at all. Don't they work for the ministry?'_ Not a one of the press has guessed the truth.

Because the truth is too shocking.

Harry and Cedric plan to dance with each other.

Harry moves a little closer to his "date" and -- with Fleur's very large belly to hide it -- takes Cedric's hand, rubbing his thumb over the cold fingers. Fleur notices and smiles, turning sideways to cover for them better.

"Is Betony here?" Harry asks. Betony is one of Cedric's younger cousins, the only one still at Hogwarts.

"Yes," Cedric says now. "She was angry that she wasn't old enough to put her name in the Goblet -- she's only sixteen. She thinks it should be some sort of family tradition." He snorts. "I told her she should count her blessings. She didn't believe I was serious."

"Did you warn her?"

Cedric glances over. "Sort of." But he doesn't elaborate. Harry prods him with an elbow and he adds, "I told her she might want to leave after the meal if she didn't want me embarrassing her. She thought I meant because I can't dance." His voice is dry. "Her exact words were, 'I wouldn't miss this for a thousand galleons.' I told her I'd ask her again in the morning. It'll be a miracle if she's still speaking to me."

"Does she know?" Harry asks. "About us?"

"No. Well . . . maybe. From some things she's said, I suspect she's heard the rumours but we've never talked about it. My uncle would have my head." He snorts. "She'll know after tonight."

Harry thinks Cedric should have prepared her better, but doesn't say so. Cedric's family relations are the one taboo topic between them despite the stress Cedric suffers because of them.

Dinner is hell. The Champions -- both sets -- have to sit at the high table and Harry is beside Cedric, who just pushes around the green beans and potatoes; even his roast slices remain untouched. "Eat," Hermione admonishes him.

"Can't."

"Oh, for pity's sake," she says, reaching across to spear some of the sliced roast and hold it up to his mouth. "Do I have to _hand-feed_ you?"

"Witch," he tells her. "People are watching." But he accepts the bite.

"Well, yes, of course I'm a witch, and I know you meant that with a /b/, Mr. Diggory. Shame on you."

"You may as well give in and do what she says," Viktor advises from Hermione's other side.

Harry ignores them and devours his own meal. It's quite good, really. After a childhood without enough to eat, he never lets a little thing like nerves interfere with his appetite.

Besides, there's treacle tart for dessert.

It's near the end of the last course that a slight disturbance at the door catches Harry's eye and he looks up. The (real) band has arrived. After the requisite ballroom pieces are out of the way, _Maeve's Skirts _will take the stage to rock the house until midnight like _The Weird Sisters _had in Harry's day. _The Weird Sisters _are "archaic" now, and not only do _Maeve's Skirts _have notoriety, but as an all-girl band -- with the current Champions all girls this time around -- Headmaster Firenze had thought them appropriate. Harry hadn't given it much thought when he'd first read about it in _The Daily Prophet_, but he's thinking about it now because Ginny Weasley just walked in the door, dressed casually in denims and a tight, hot-pink _Maeve's Skirts _t-shirt. She happens to be friends with the lead guitarist and has apparently tagged along to help with setup. Now, she glances over at the head table and, for just a moment, their eyes meet. Heat suffuses Harry's cheeks and if he hadn't been that nervous about what's to come before, his anxiety level rises abruptly. He's not ashamed of Cedric. It's just that he hadn't expected his old fiancée to be here, and didn't intend to embarrass her publicly.

Cedric must have noticed too because he leans in to whisper in Harry's ear, "Maybe we should sit it out? That's what everybody's expecting us to do anyway." Harry thinks Cedric is probably looking for an excuse even if he'd been the one to suggest all this initially.

"I don't want to," Harry replies, but it's more in protest than as an affirmation of intent, and sounds a bit petulant. After a moment, he shakes his head. "Never mind. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it; Ginny may not be staying. She's mates with Flora and they probably just needed some extra hands to get everything set up, magic or no."

Twenty minutes later, the meal is over and students are milling, dashing to the toilets or chatting while any leftovers (and the tables) magically disappear, leaving the dance floor open once more. This year's theme isn't the ice palace of the previous Yule Ball. Instead, it's all about brilliance and color, and with the meal finished, the house lights have gone down to set off the thousands of twinkling fairly lights and magical illumination balls caught in fine gauze and tethered by long ribbons of silver, gold, and ice-blue silk. The ribbon ends drift along the floor in random patterns like schools of fish, and the room seems to dance with rainbows. Harry can't see Ginny any more. Either she left or she moved somewhere in back of the musical stage. He can feel his palms sweating as the orchestra sets up and begins Ancient Chinese Tuning Medley. "Bloody hell," he mutters to nobody in particular. Cedric left to use the toilet -- and probably throw up from nerves -- so Harry is alone for the moment.

Hermione crosses from Viktor's side at the edge of the dance floor to join him. "You look petrified. I thought Cedric was the one ready to pass out?"

"Ginny's here," Harry says.

"I saw her come in."

"Yeah. Didn't expect that."

"And?"

"And I don't want to embarrass her!" Harry snaps.

"Oh, Harry, she's known about you and Cedric for a long time. Seeing you both publicly out yourselves is hardly going to surprise her -- except for, you know, that whole _public_ bit." She grins. "You've been wanting to do this for almost two years now."

"Well, yeah, but not in front of Ginny."

"It's not like she wouldn't read about it in the papers the next morning. How is that any less embarrassing for her? At least this way, she'll know it's coming. Besides, the two of you ending is positively ancient in terms of news."

Cedric has returned to the Great Hall and Harry watches him stop to talk to his cousin, then kiss her cheek while she gazes up at him with near-worship. Finally he strides across the edge of the empty dance floor towards Harry. His dress robes billow a little in the wind of his passing and he looks absolutely _elegant_ in black and white. "He's so beautiful," Harry mutters.

"You're so besotted," Hermione says, shoving at him lightly. "He has a crooked, broken nose from the war and caterpillar eyebrows, but at least he shaved tonight. The scruffy look went out with the '90s."

Harry coughs. "Actually, it didn't. The scruffy look is very much in. And you're just jealous. Besides, Viktor has caterpillar eyebrows too."

Laughing, she drifts off. "I prefer my personal pair of caterpillar eyebrows to yours, thanks."

"Caterpillar eyebrows?" Cedric asks as he comes to a stop beside Harry. "Hermione doesn't have caterpillar eyebrows."

Harry bursts out laughing. It helps ease the tension as the orchestra quiets and Headmaster Firenze steps out onto the floor, his hooves clopping on flagstone. "It's time for the rest of the festivities to begin. Will this year's Champions and their dates please make their way to the floor? You'll begin, ladies. Then our former Champions will join you with their dates, and after that, the rest of you may join as well."

And there is no more time to think about it; it's now or never. Cedric's hands are still shaking but his face looks determined. He's made his decision, and seeing him ready to face this at last, Harry knows he has to go through with it even if Ginny _is_ here.

The three young Champions take the floor; all are dressed in bright jewel tones like solstice butterflies but to Harry, they look so _young_. Had he looked that young once? Their partners twirl them around for a minute or so, then Professor Firenze nods to the four former Champions. As before, Fleur leads them out, sailing onto the floor like the QE2, graceful despite her size. Viktor follows with Hermione and Harry can FEEL all the eyes in the hall on him and Cedric -- waiting to see what they'll do, if they'll magically produce dates at the very last moment.

"Let's go," Cedric says and holds out his hand. Harry takes it.

They walk onto the floor hand in hand, neither on the arm of the other. And if one of them is going to have to lead, because, well, that's how one waltzes, Cedric had an idea for that. Once out there -- in front of a room dead silent but for the music -- he takes a galleon from his pocket and flips it in the air. It lands heads-up on the back of his wrist and he gestures to Harry . . . although they'd already decided who'd lead whatever the coin said because they'd had to practice how to do it. Cedric's just making a point.

They move into each other's arms and step out.

And they're dancing.

Together.

In front of God and Merlin and everybody.

Flashbulbs go off as Harry had known they would, and the whispers have started, swelling on the edge of indignant. The three current Champions have all stopped to gape at them but Bill and Fleur, Hermione and Viktor continue as they were, unsurprised, although they slowly drift to the edge to leave Harry and Cedric in the center of the floor, going round and round. Harry manages not to step on Cedric's feet, and Cedric is looking _intense_. Harry knows he's counting off steps in his head because neither of them is a particularly good dancer, but the last thing they want to do is trip all over each other. The muttering is getting louder, sounding more angry now, and less surprised. Harry hears, somewhere in the mass of people on the floor edge, "Bloody poofters."

"Bloody _fags_," somebody else calls -- louder -- and Harry can feel all his muscles tense. Cedric's jaw is flexing again and his eyes narrow. They're committing social suicide and they both know it. Then it starts -- what Harry least expected.

Applause. A single pair of hands is clapping, deliberately and loudly, and somebody whistles. It's a woman's whistle, Harry thinks. Turning his head, he looks for Hermione.

It's not Hermione. Or Fleur. Both are still dancing.

It's Ginny.

She's stepped forward through the crowd and is standing on the edge of the circle. Her fingers are in her mouth and she's the one who whistled.

That simple gesture turns the tide. Others clap too. It's not everybody -- not by a long shot. Some of the students have actually stepped back from the floor, arms crossed, looking angry and uncertain what to do. But more haven't. Some just stand there all agape, but some are smiling and clapping.

And then a really amazing thing happens.

Two girls come out onto the floor, one of them dragging the other by the wrist, looking grim and determined. Then they, too, begin to dance. They aren't from Hogwarts. Harry thinks they might be from Durmstrang, but can't be certain. They dance in each other's arms along with Harry and Cedric, Bill and Fleur, Victor and Hermione.

And that makes this moment worth it. This is how it should be, Harry thinks, people able to dance with whomever they love without resorting to any social script of "oughts." Harry was never found of "oughts" anyway. He starts to grin. "They're dancing," he says to Cedric.

"I noticed," Cedric replies.

"Our work here is done. Let's go. I don't like waltzes."

"Me neither."

They stop and cross to the floor edge, and the crowd parts to let them pass. Some students are still staring, gaping -- or frowning. But some reach out to touch their clothes as if they might be a talisman of courage.

They don't make it out of the hall before they hear feet hurrying behind them -- a click-click of heels and Harry thinks it might be Hermione -- or that damn Rita Skeeter -- but when he turns, it's a girl with hair the same not-quite-blond as Cedric. Betony. She grabs him, hugging and babbling. "You stupid idiot! You stupid, _stupid_ idiot! Uncle Amos is gonna _kill_ you. But I love you." Harry is a little stunned, yet Cedric's last damn breaks and he grips her tightly, his shoulders shaking with soundless sobs.

Her date has come looking for her. He is tall and thin with bright blue eyes, but appears a good deal less certain about what to make of the fact his girl's famous cousin will likely be _in_famous by the morning editions. "Go back and dance," Cedric tells her finally, unhooking her arms from around his shoulders and running a hand over his face to obscure any trace of emotion. "Write me later if your mum and dad let you."

"I'll write you even if they don't," she promises, turning away but throwing one last glance over her shoulder before she disappears into the press, her hand gripped in the boy's.

"Well," Cedric says when she's gone. "That was . . . unexpected."

Then they just stare at each other for a long minute. The adrenaline rush is passing and Harry feels as exhausted and wrung out as Cedric looks. "It was Ginny," he says after a moment. "She started the applause."

"I know," Cedric replies.

Turning his head, Harry looks up towards the music stage. He can't see well in the dim light, but there's a shadow standing there watching him and he knows that silhouette. She gives him a thumbs-up.

He returns it.

Then he takes Cedric by the hand and they leave the hall as they entered it. Together.

Tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with the messy consequences. Tonight, he thinks he might like to take a walk in the snow and moonlight with the man he loves.

* * *

**Notes: **Regarding _Maeve's Skirts_: Maeve is, of course, a famous mythical-historic Irish witch, and a 'skirt' means a young girl in British slang, so it seemed suitable for an all-girl Wizarding band. As for "pillow-biter," laugh if you must, my _Twilight_ friends, but that's British slang for a (passive) gay male. And don't be too hard on Ron. He's had a rough few years. He may not be at his best here, but he was left by his wife shortly after his best friend left his little sis. Ginny handled it better than Ron. And there's only Rose in this version because Ron and Hermione spilt at 25; furthermore, this Rose would be a little older. Hermione had her at 23, whereas in canon, she had Rose around 25 or 26. Last, while I realize the Triwizard Tournament normally switched hosts each time, I needed it to be at Hogwarts so I'm waving the Wand of Bait-and-Switch. :-)

Usual thanks go to Laurel_tx for catching logic problems, and to Callista_Mythol for the britpicking this time.

**Comments are love.**


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